Carry On
by xxDodo
Summary: "He missed that Sam, the one who believed him, trusted him, needed him..." John's got lots of things on his mind, but if there's one thing the man knows for certain, it's that Sammy'll make him proud. Years later, the promise still hangs in Sam's head.


**Summary:** Stuck in a motel room, cleaning guns, and Sam resorts to talking with his father. John's got lots of things on his mind, but if there's one thing the man knows for certain, it's that Sammy'll make him proud. Years later, with his father gone, the promise still hangs in Sam's head.

**A/N:**I miss old Sammy :( In fact, I missed him _and _old Dean so much that I decided to rewatch some of the end episodes of season 1, when it was John and Dean and Sammy and they were a team and John and Sammy had their moment and life was hopeful *heart* Thus, this reflection of John and Sammy sometime in their life, when there was hope and loveness. *crawls into emo corner* Heh, sorry, I blame season 5 :P But, it prompted me to right mah very first SPN fic! :D *accomplishment*

The song where the title came from (did any of you think it was from "Carry On My Wayward Son"? jw ^^) and the idea and the brief lyrics is called "Welcome To The Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance. The beginning lyrics just reminded me so much of Sammy and John that it was creepy O.o

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. *sniffle* Else there'd be more hugs. Nor do I own the song.**

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><p><em>When I was a young boy<br>My father took me into the city  
>To see a marching band<br>He said, "Son, when you grow up  
>Would you be the savior of the broken<br>The beaten and the damned?"_

_He said, "Will you defeat them_  
><em>Your demons and all the non-believers<em>  
><em>The plans that they have made?<em>  
><em>Because one day, I'll leave you<em>  
><em>A phantom to lead you in the summer<em>  
><em>To join the Black Parade."<em>

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><p><strong>Carry On<strong>

Sam felt his father's eyes on him.

They'd been there for some time, but he was just noticing the prickly feeling on the back of his neck. It took some willpower not to shift uncomfortably. He wasn't doing anything wrong, he thought a little defensively. Just cleaning the guns for a hunt tomorrow, like any normal fifteen-year-old his age would be doing on a Friday night.

A few seconds after he had the thought he felt a little guilty. All three of the Winchesters had noticed Sam's increasing defensiveness and sarcastic remarks, and no matter how pissed off his father got at him Sam couldn't seem to stop. Dean blamed it on teenage angst, but as far as Sam knew, his older brother had never gotten Dad's face to turn that lovely shade of red before. Sammy had accomplished it within an hour in a car with the man.

Not that he was proud of it...

Coming back to the present, Sam put down the rifle he had inspecting, deeming it ready for use, before unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck, where he knew his father's eyes were still resting. What the hell was the man looking at? His hand then traveled to his forehead, where he rubbed his temples. He's had a stuffy nose for a while, 'twas the fall season after all, but that had given way to bouts of headaches and coughing. He hated the headaches, being more prone to them than usual, and a few aspirin was all he could really do about it.

Dean had asked him how he was, concern underlying his words as usual, but Sam had brushed him off. John really hadn't said anything, not that Sam expected him to. He was Winchester, obviously he was supposed to suck it up and keep going.

Making an abrupt decision, Sam changed his position, telling himself that it was so he could work on the guns on the other side of the kitchen table, but knowing he just wanted to be able to actually see Dad's face. He wished again that Dean was here, not out with some girl, so that his older brother could disperse some of the subtle tension that always seemed to lie with John and his youngest nowadays, both waiting for the other to say something and automatically take offense to it. But Dean usually did this on their last night some place, his ever-so-logical statement to appease their father's growing worry of grandchildren with, "Hunts are dangerous. It may be my last night, you know? Might as well make it last." This was followed by a cheeky wink, which most certainly did not find John Winchester amused. All the same, he never really did anything to stop him. Unfortunately, a night being their last was all too possible when you were a hunter.

Finally, unable to stand the staring and silence much longer, Sam lifted his head and said, a tad irritatedly, "What?"

He almost immediately regretted it. He caught a brief glimpse of his father's open face, one that was filled with contemplation and something else Sam didn't immediately recognized, before John's stoic facade was back in place and he looked down at his journal. "Nothing."

Sam hesitated. Why had his dad been looking like that? Prodding the rifle, he spoke quietly, "Penny for your thoughts..."

To his mild surprise, Sam heard a soft noise. Not a laugh, per se, but close. "That's such a cheesy way to start a conversation, Sammy."

As was his tendency these days, Sam's first instinct was to take offense at the jibe, and a snappish retort was ready on his tongue before he looked up and saw that his dad's attention was to him, a smile – though a little distracted – on his features. Still, the journal was to the side, and John was watching his son, exchanging words in a civil manner. And that made Sam reel in his resentment, allowing himself a tentative smile and tilt of the head. "Take a picture, Dad, it'll last longer."

John almost-laughed again and rubbed his palm on his knee, looking down. Sam stared at him expectantly for several seconds. Finally, John sighed, "Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam blinked, startled. "..For what?"

John ran his fingers through his short hair, in extreme contrast to Sam's longer hair, with bangs brushing his eyes. Yet another stubborn rebellion against his father's methods. "Dean told me you had plans this weekend."

Sam opened and closed his mouth. _Plans?..._ He'd stopped making plans for the weekends since about two years ago when he'd had to cancel at least a dozen because of hunts and Dad's unyielding word that yes, he had to come. So...

A blush came to his cheeks as it dawned on him. "Oh."

There was silence for another second, until he continued awkwardly, "I mean, I told her no...it's fine..."

His words surprised them both. Usually the teen would be sulking that he had to go on yet another hunt instead of living life a normal kid and going on dates. Real ones, not the dumb one-night stands that Dean resorted to. But he figured that Dad was apologizing, a rare occasion, and neither of them were in the mood for a fight tonight. Plus, Sam's head would probably want to explode midway, and he really didn't want to deal with it.

"We staying on tomorrow's hunt long?" Sam asked, slightly awkwardly. John raised his eyebrows at him. They both knew Sam didn't _really_ care about hunting, but at the moment it was just a way to continue to talk to his father.

"Not really," John answered. "There are a few ghost signs within a day's drive of the place, I can take care of 'em over the weekends so we can stay there for longer than usual." It was a crappy peace offering, but the first time John had offered one.

Sam nodded. "Cool," he said lamely.

There was an awkward silence.

"How's school?" John plunged. Now it was Sam's turn to look a little disbelieving. John had understood that normal education was still important for his kids, not to mention required by law, but he'd never really minded much about grades as long as his sons were passing. Dean had been fine with this arrangement; he liked school as much as Sam liked hunting. But Sam, on the other hand, wished his dad would pay a little more attention, considering it was one of the things Sam was really, really good at.

So at the question, he couldn't help but feel happy that Dad had even bothered asking. "It's fine, the teachers are morons though. They have no idea what they're talking about."

John grinned. "And I'm sure you have a perfect understanding, right?"

Sam smiled back. "Possibly." He shrugged. "But it doesn't matter, I'll be at a new school soon and maybe it'll be better."

He hadn't meant for it to sound bitter, but still John averted his gaze and sighed. Sam shifted a little. He moved forward hesitantly, then took a seat in an armchair across from his father and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and head in his hands, unconsciously rubbing his temple again.

John glanced back at him. "You still got that cold?"

Sam shook his head. "No sir, it's gotten better. Just a headache."

"Ah." They lapsed into silence again.

John thought back to why he'd been watching Sam in the first place. In the quiet motel room, it had been a nice setting to get to work on his journal's notes and updating research, effectively ignoring any attitude his youngest son might have by putting him to the time consuming task of weapons checking. But by some cruel fate, flipping through the pages had landed him on information on a certain yellow-eyed demon. One whom most certainly killed Mary. And done _something_, almost _tainted_ his six-month-old baby.

John's heart had clenched at the thought. _Sammy_.

John knew that much but details? No amount of research had helped him there. _Something _had happened to Sam and it was John's duty to make sure this something didn't break out. And besides the stubborn streak his son had got going, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. All the same, John really wished Sam would trust his words and actions a little more, instead of fighting him the whole way through.

"Dad? You're doing it again."

John's eyes snapped into focus. "Huh?" He shook his head, looking away. "Sorry, kiddo."

Sam hesitated. "What's wrong?"

"Sam, you know I believe in you, right?"

_Any more surprises up your sleeve tonight, Dad? _Sam thought incredulously. _I just might think I'm dreaming. _But he asked instead, "Dad, really, what's up?"

John seemed to hesitate. "Sammy..." he trailed off, thinking about what exactly to tell his son.

It had been about a month ago that the demon had taunted him. Spewing stories about raising Hell and having a human leader, yet one who's blood contained something darker. The way it had talked, like John knew said human personally, had bothered the Winchester. And when the demon began talking about his sons, it was all John could do not to stab it through the heart. Not that it would do much.

All three Winchesters knew that John didn't exactly share his knowledge with the family, choosing instead to believe that his sons trusted him enough to follow him through. But with adolescence not being the kindest to Sam, he figured he may have to do a little more.

"Listen, kiddo, I know you hate what we do," John started. Sam opened his mouth in discomfort, not really wanting to have this conversation. Ignoring him, John continued, "but Sammy, I'm still proud of you."

Sam blinked in surprise, a warmth filling him that he couldn't really describe.

"Maybe you don't believe hunting is what's right for you yet," almost immediately Sam's spirits sunk a bit at his father's next words, "but trust me, son, you'll do everything that you need to. It'll all pay off, and I know you can do it."

Sam just looked him, eyes filled with an uncertainty that John didn't think he'd ever want to see in his son's previously young and accepting eyes.

He missed that Sam, the one who believed him, trusted him, needed him. Dean's _little_ brother, and John's baby boy, the one who had them both wrapped around his little finger with a flash of green orbs. The one whose bangs always grew much too long, but allowed his father to push them out of his vision in a shamefully rare show of affection. And whose bright green eyes were filled with curiosity and innocence, still able to have his his tears wiped away with a simple promise that there was no evil to hurt him.

_I miss us. Why don't you just trust me, Sammy? I know what I'm doing. I don't tell you things because I want to protect you. Please, son, just understand that._

But he didn't say any of it. Instead, John coughed a little and spoke, "Just, bear with me, alright?"

Sam didn't think he wanted to. _Bear with you?_ he repeated in his head, not happy with the prospect. _While you let hunting become your life just for revenge? _But with all his father had just admitted, Sam didn't think he could have that argument just yet. So instead of having to answer, he did something he didn't think he'd done in a long time. Scooting forward, he wrapped his arms around his father.

For all that they fought, Sam could never deny that this was the safest place he could imagine—snug in his father's arms. He held on until John put a hand on the back of his head and pulled gently away. There came the silence again, except this time it was a pause to decide who would break the moment first.

"I'll help you with the guns," John decided, suddenly eager for some normality in the room. Loading guns, preparing for hunts, that was what knew how to do, and what he figured he may actually have done right in teaching the boys.

And it was how he was determined to live until Sam – and Dean – were safe.

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><p><em>Seven years later...<em>

Sam's mind pulled him back to the present, reminding that he was not sitting next to his father on a worn-out couch, rather on a lumpy bed in a cheap motel room, staring at ugly yellow wallpaper and mourning every moment lost with his father. He'd never even talk to the man again, let alone have an already rare civilized chat. It was worse than the time he'd left – which was a lot different from ditched – his family for Stanford. He couldn't even be mad at the man now, knowing how hard his dad had worked to try to kill the yellow-eyed demon didn't even come close to what he would sacrifice for his sons.

Wetness stained his cheeks. Every thought he'd ever had, every word he'd ever uttered that had implied that their father had cared more about the hunt and ganking the demon killed their mom was floating through Sam's mind and he wanted nothing more to take them back, now understanding that John had almost positively made a deal with said demon to save Dean's life. And lose his own.

"What am I supposed to do now?" the choked whisper passed Sam's lips, falling to no ears in the motel room.

_Kill Yellow-Eyes._

Sammy swallowed. "Right," he struggled. More tears leaked out of his not-stubborn-enough eyes.

_Every tear is a waterfall, Sammy. It's not helping anybody._

"I know," came Sam's quiet response to his thoughts. He took a deep breath, knowing with crying he was only trying to relieve some of his grief and regret.

_The man dies and now you want to make amends._

Sammy shut his eyes. It was the truth; and one he figured he would have a hard time of accepting. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry."

Dean came back in a half an hour later. Sam was on his laptop, and Dean had a newspaper in one hand and a bag of greasy fast food in the other. Neither brother acknowledged the other's red eyes; there wasn't much either wanted to say.

"There's a hunt," Dean said. "'bout five hours drive from here, but I think it's worth looking at."

Right, Sammy thought. Hunting. He took yet another deep breath. "Cool," he said almost-casually. "Let's go."

Sammy dragged his feet over to the bed where his duffel lay half-packed. Throwing things in haphazardly, he stopped abruptly as a clink of metal reached his ears. Curiously tossing the clothes out of his duffel, he caused Dean to glance over with a raised eyebrow at how Sammy was doing exactly the _opposite_ of what he was supposed to be. _Mentally unstable kid..._

Sam rummaged around a bit until his fingers grasped a thin chain.

Pulling it out, he stared at the necklace incredulously, dog tags still readable with his father's name.

_Flashback_

_John Winchester knelt down to be eye-level with his eight-year old son. Sammy stared mournfully back at his father with tearful olive brown eyes, opened wide in a desperate attempt to move John with the infamous puppy-dog eyes. But as much as it melted John inside, the eldest Winchester stood his ground._

"_I have to go, Sammy," he tried to explain to his whimpering son. "I _promise _I'll be back, son, really."_

"_What if you aren't?" Sammy pleaded. "You don't have to go. Stay, Dad, please!"_

_John pulled Sam close. "I will come back," John said firmly. "I promise you, Sammy, and I wouldn't break a promise, right?"_

_Of course, throughout his teen years Sam would continually argue with his father over broken promises not to move, but at the moment, in his barely clutching innocence age of eight, the boy pulled back and nodded, still extremely reluctant to let his dad go out to "work" now that he knew there was the very real possibility that it might get him killed. _

_John paused a moment, then stood and rummaged around his duffel for a moment. He pulled out something shiny, silver dangling from it barely glinting as it was worn. _

_John knelt again and handed the chain to his youngest with a reassuring smile on his face. "Here, kiddo," he said softly, putting it around Sam's neck. "Take care of 'em, alright?"_

_Sam lifted the silver rectangles hanging on the chain to inspect them. He blinked in surprise. They were his dad's dog tags, from when he'd fought in Vietnam. Sammy looked up, eyes uncertain. John smiled back again. He reached out and ruffled his son's hair. "They're for you. A promise that I _will _come back, Sammy."_

_Sam looked at the tags then back to his father. The child wrapped his arms tightly around his dad's neck for several seconds, then allowed himself to be pulled off. He grinned up a watery smile as John stood. Running his hand through Sammy's long curls affectionately one more time, John shouldered the duffel full of weapons and provisions. "See you soon, tiger."_

"_Bye, Dad," Sam responded quietly, but more hopefully now, as John Winchester walked out the door, the promise that he'd be back still hanging in the air and accepted in little Sammy's heart. _

_And it was kept for every single hunt. John would be safe, and protect Dean and Sam along with him. It had been kept for a near fourteen more years..._

_End flashback_

Throughout the rest of the years, father and son had grown considerably further apart, but Sam still kept the tags, tucked into the bottom of his old duffel bag and pulled out now and then when he was missing his dad. And almost fourteen years later, Sammy still kept them, even through his Stanford years. He wondered if Dad had forgotten, but no, John Winchester wouldn't forget these. He'd never asked for them back, Sam realized, and held the tags tighter.

"I'll make it up to you, Dad," Sam whispered to himself, fingering the tags. "I promise."

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><p><strong>AN:** In hindsight, maybe starting this right after going through the emotional roller coaster that is season 5 wasn't a genius idea :P Lol, and it was meant to be bromance... I'll probably read this in the morning and think, "Jeez, I'm more emo in this than Sammy!" Eight freakin' pages of angsty thought. But my friend and the person who pokes me when I lapse in writing, **agent iz hyper**, got a promise from yours truly that this would be posted by the time she woke up. So, the sap will have to stay :)

Oh, and the dog tag idea came from a few other stories I've read where Sammy or Dean gets 'em in some way, this is my version :) Did I mention it's my first SPN fic? :D _Sweet! _I feel revived. Review?

-Dodo


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